#pairing:krishan

Luhan hasn't gotten any in so long it feels like heaven when Kris touches him. More than heaven when adept fingers slip beneath the too-tight elastic of his dress pants, the pair he'd worn all through the Seoul Music Awards even when he'd told the stylists they chafe his hipbones, but now he's vaguely glad they didn't fix his measurements on their sheets when Kris is running his fingertips over the reddened spots, soothing them though the sensitivity meant it hurt a little. Not that Luhan minds when he's half naked and Kris is too, one of Kris’ dumb necklaces ("it's gangster" Kris had said, much to Luhan’s chagrin) is trickling down to bump against Luhan's chin and when Kris kisses him the cool steel slides over Luhan's neck in a welcome change against the hot, stuffy air of the room.

“Take it off,” Luhan’s whining almost, pride kept in check by the mere ounce of self-control he has left; Kris isn’t exactly taking his time like he sometimes does, fumbling about with Luhan’s clothes and the soft, lean body that’s beneath, but he wasn’t exactly running at top speed either. It annoys Luhan tonight because he knows they’re both desperate but Kris is unwilling to show, and he’s about to issue another reprimand laced in raw annoyance when he feels a rough tug and his pants are gone, belt, briefs and all, from around his hips like they were made of silk and Luhan’s biting back a gasp, pearly teeth piercing into a red stain on the even colour of his lips. “Kris—,” he’s saying, but Kris cuts him off with a kiss, and there’s that damn necklace again, still cool to touch against the growing heat blooming across Luhan’s neck and tinging it with an embarrassing pink. It’s segmented – the necklace – and tragically Luhan feels every little bit of it in fine detail even when his lips are between Kris’ and his tongue is being nudged around too much as if Kris doesn’t really know what he’s doing but Luhan likes it anyway because it’s primal and really, truly Kris. Of course, next to go are Kris’ clothes, him keeping them on would be counterproductive, but Luhan’s only popped the button, undone the zip and is reaching for the two sides to push the material down when Kris stops him.

Luhan breathes in sharply.

“It isn’t the time for games, Yifan,”

“I’m not playing,” Kris’ gaze is steady against the flash of irritation in Luhan’s own and it makes Luhan shy away from further comment, swallowing the sentences he would have made about how stressed he’s been lately and how Kris shouldn’t add to it. He’s closing his eyes and counting to ten, Kris’ mouth at his neck and no doubt pebbling the area with marks that would fade by the next day – it wasn’t their style to be obvious about this. Five, six, seven… — Kris looks at him, knows what he’s doing — eight, nine, and Luhan’s eyes open, wide with surprise and body jerking upwards off the bed because, hell, Kris’ stretching him out with a finger and God knows how much that hurt.

“You’re very impatient,” Kris observes, and his nerve to be so calm when Luhan’s face is screwed up in pain doesn’t fly with the older of the two who sinks his teeth into Kris’ earlobe, right by the tacky earring that adds more “bling” to the oh-so-modest clothes Kris usually dons, and when he licks around the piece of jewellery, it’s Kris’ turn to have his breath hitch. It doesn’t help quell the quickly growing ache inside Luhan as Kris drew his finger in and out but it makes Kris go that bit faster, Luhan getting through reminding himself that this is exactly what he’d been wanting,  and soon enough Luhan’s urging for the second, the third, and then moaning out, choked for words, for Kris. He can tell Kris almost makes a smart retort at that but thankfully Kris is saving it this time, hand retracting from being up against Luhan’s ass and instead lifting Luhan’s legs up and apart, bent at the knees to fit the width of Kris’ body between.

“Do it,” Luhan gulps, shaking off the hold Kris had at his thighs to secure them readily around those hips. “Don’t say anything —please. Do it,”

And do it Kris does, stroking himself against Luhan’s ass for a merciful three seconds before he was pushing the tip of his cock against Luhan’s prepared rim, the action earning him the best of sounds in his opinion what with Luhan’s pale neck exposed and strained with everything Kris was making him feel. It’s only when Kris is half in that Luhan wonders when Kris had ever gotten out of his pants and his underwear, though the material Luhan could just feel against his feet is fast to answer him that Kris never did.

He’s being fucked by someone who didn’t feel like being fully undressed for it.

“Hyung,” is always the first thing Kris utters and Luhan has long since given up on correcting him, especially at times like this. It isn’t like it’s hard on the ears either with how gruff yet somehow shamefully dependent Kris sounds when he says it, like he isn’t the one with his dick up someone’s ass. It takes a few shallow thrusts to allow Luhan to adjust but they both know he values saving time over discomfort, so the transition from slow to steady is usually a fast one what with them both impatient by now for release. Kris has never marked Luhan before but he does it now, and for what special occasion Luhan knows not but he isn’t complaining, the heat of Kris’ mouth with the bite of his teeth something to be savoured on top of how sloppy Kris has gotten lately with the sex, not that much could go wrong with Luhan when he’s filled to the brim with all that Kris had to offer. It still stings, the stretch, but the rocking motion of Kris’ hips that sets the bed moving (or at least Luhan thinks) is enough to get his mind off it, the toe-curling pleasure gradually spreading through his body until he felt light-headed with the euphoria of having something so thick so tightly pressed against his walls, the fit perfectly snug.  And eventually the way Kris is moving becomes faultless, Luhan’s fingers scratching fruitlessly for purchase along Kris’ sides and down his back, the room enveloped with Kris’ low grunts and panted exhales that ring in tandem with Luhan’s whines and higher pitched whimpers for more. It’s like Kris can’t get deep enough, coming off dissatisfied with how he pierces Luhan with hungry glimpses, but it’s only because it feels much too good and Luhan knows it – he’s clenching harshly around the intrusive length at all the right times, willing Kris to feel his disdain at how this could never be enough to sate the both of them, how doing it once is never quite sufficient but both knowing it had to.

A shift of Kris’ knees against the bed and his cock slips free a bit, the smooth rhythm they’d set up until now wavering.

Kris wants something different.

Luhan finds himself on his side. He’s got a leg raised, Kris supporting it up with a hand tucked beneath his knee to keep it in place and it takes some prodding, some experimenting until Kris has got the both of them positioned right for him to fuck fluidly into Luhan again. The angle is different, everything is different, and Luhan feels the burn like he never has before, embarrassed but not completely perturbed by the tears he blinks free within the first few thrusts, and it’s now that he finds himself jarring with each time Kris is in to the hilt. He’s unable to move much, not if he wants Kris to continue slamming into him the way he is now, and the most he can do is grip at the sheets, glad for once that Kris seems to know what he’s doing without Luhan’s input. “Breathe,” Kris rasps and Luhan wants to punch him, he’s breathing, he’s just making a terrible mess of it what with how his prostate is being hit repeatedly and how he’s making those regrettably loud attempts at Kris’ name, Yifan, Yifan, Yifan each time he took Kris’ cock whole. He sounds strangled and awful and what makes the whole thing worse is when Kris is delivering stinging slaps to the side of his thigh, as if the blossoming red all over his body isn’t enough, as if Luhan doesn’t sound absolutely wrecked already with how he grew completely pliant to Kris’ work, defiance dissolving as he went boneless in Kris’ hold and against the brunt of the thrusts the other man made. It wouldn’t take long now and Luhan knows it, scooting back tight against Kris’ chest to produce a groan of pleasure from them both and that’s when he feels the goddamn necklace, still cold and distinct in its outline as it knocked against his neck as Kris moves.

“Jesus,” Luhan hisses and he reaches up to hook a finger through it, yanking Kris forward and their lips crash together in a hurried kiss, the searing heat passing between their mouths only matched by how hard and determined Kris is in how he moved into Luhan, barely out before his clothed groin is tucked right up to Luhan’s ass. His hand’s starting to weaken in keeping Luhan’s leg up, managing only because they both need these precious few seconds, neither of them able to grasp onto anything really when Kris comes in a gruff burst of a groan, the familiar feeling of cum spreading all down his walls and escaping down his thighs one that Luhan is never, will never be, sick of as he rocks back and milks Kris for more. Their lips are close, parted, but they aren’t kissing anymore what with Kris’ movements slacking in momentum as the high of his orgasm begins spearing downwards again and he’s finally, finally wrapping firm fingers around Luhan’s neglected length and taking him through the last seconds until Luhan’s done too, shuddering and moaning almost in protest at how knowing Kris is in how he drains Luhan clean (mostly onto the bed) with thorough, no-bullshit strokes.

They both stay where they are, chests heaving with effort as if they’d forgotten how to let their lungs do their job and it takes a while, it always does, until Kris is moving in to check on Luhan, ask him how he’s doing, and Luhan almost always protests to hugging because it’s hot and Kris isn’t the fridge.

“Next time,” Kris manages to say, slipping the cross that dangles at the end of his necklace into a corner of Luhan’s lips. “I want this in your mouth. It looks so pretty,”